


all my loving to you

by the_aaliyah_rose_black



Category: The Beatles (Band)
Genre: 1964, Fevers, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Sick John Lennon, Sickfic, Vomiting, stomach bug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-15
Updated: 2021-02-15
Packaged: 2021-03-16 17:06:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29457207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_aaliyah_rose_black/pseuds/the_aaliyah_rose_black
Summary: in which john's sick and paul wants to take care of him.
Relationships: John Lennon/Paul McCartney
Comments: 6
Kudos: 38





	all my loving to you

**Author's Note:**

> another beatles sickfic! i see so many mclennon ones where it's john taking care of paul, so i decided to turn it around! there is a vomit warning, but it's not graphic! this is also not based on real events, just a small figment of my imagination.

Paul bit his lip worriedly as he glanced over at the clock on the wall, seeing how it had been almost fifteen minutes since John had left suddenly just as both of them were slowly but surely falling asleep. That had been at 12:30, and now it was almost 12:45. And if he was being honest, he had been worried about his boyfriend the whole day.

John had been looking peaky the whole day, even falling asleep on his shoulder during the car ride to the hotel where the press conference was. He shared a worried look with both George and Ringo, the two looking confused and a little concerned. And during the press conference, John had barely spoken a word, leaning his head on his hand, looking somewhat dazed. He let the rest of them do all the talking, which was rare for him. 

At the rehearsal for their concert the next night, he couldn't help but notice how John seemed to be lagging behind during the songs, sometimes messing up a chord or two during  _ She Loves You.  _ The older had collapsed into one of the chairs on the stage, holding his head in his hands. 

Shaking himself out of his thoughts, Paul quietly sighed, turning toward the closed bathroom door. He knocked his fingers gently against the wood before calling out softly, "John, love? Is everything alright?"

He instantly cursed himself the minute after the words left his mouth.  _ No, you idiot,  _ he cursed,  _ of course, he's not alright. He's been throwing up in there for the past fifteen minutes!  _ The sound of John gagging once more made him wince in both sympathy and worry. 

"Are you sure you don't want me to ask Brian to call a doctor?" he asked, repeating the same words he had asked his boyfriend two hours ago. 

John groaned quietly before responding, "no, I'm fine! It's just a bug, Paul." 

Paul ran his hands stressfully through his hair, "I wouldn't call staying in the bathroom for fifteen minutes fine," he sighed. He gently knocked on the door once more, "please, Johnny, let me in." 

There was a pause, and it was much too quiet, before John finally responded. 

"I don't want you to see me like this," he softly admitted, his voice weak and soft.

Paul felt his heart break a little after hearing those words. John had never been the one to show his emotions, afraid to seem weak. He let out a quiet sigh before placing his hand on the cool doorknob, giving John a quick warning before entering. He had kept his distance, but as George had told him several times, he could be a mother hen sometimes. 

And if Paul wasn't already worried before, he was even more so now. The sight of his boyfriend curled beside the toilet, shivering as his chills wracked his frame, his hair damp with sweat and plastered to his forehead both broke his heart and worried him. His back was facing him, and he didn't look up as Paul called out to him softly, not wanting to startle him. 

Instead of responding, John curled further into himself, hiding his face away from Paul's.

"Hey, John," Paul mumbled worriedly, "come on, now, love, don't hide away from me." 

Instead of looking up, he did the exact opposite, opting to hide further away from him. Rolling his eyes from a mix of worry, fondness, and slight amusement, Paul stood up, filling up a cup of cool water and wetting a washcloth. 

He sat down once more beside John, placing the styrofoam cup on the cold tile, holding the washcloth in his hand. He winced as John starting dry-heaving once more into the toilet, placing a hand on his back, rubbing wide circles over his sweaty pajama top. John still refused to look at him.

"Love," Paul cooed tenderly, placing his hand on the base of his neck, worry filling him at the unnatural heat, "darling, please look at me." 

He groaned, half-annoyed as he finally looked at him with glazed-over, tired eyes. 

"There we go," he whispered, causing a small smile from him, "that wasn't so hard, was it?" 

"No, I guess not," John tiredly quipped back, his voice hoarse and spent from throwing up as he accepted the water that Paul gave him. He rinsed his mouth, spitting back into the toilet, watching as he reached up and flushed it. He leaned into Paul's touch as he rubbed the sweat away from his forehead with a worried look. "Wiping away the disgustingness?" 

"Probably the mild fever you have," Paul retorted, worry still in his tone as he laid his palm on John's cheek. He felt warm, and he looked a few shades paler than his normal skin tone. "Are you  _ sure  _ you don't want me to call a doctor?" he asked, worry in his hazel eyes. 

John nodded, further leaning into Paul's touch and the cool cloth. "'ts just a bug, love," he repeated his earlier words.

Paul sighed, knowing that he wouldn't get any further with him. He placed the cloth on the sink counter, beginning to change positions. "Come on, let's get you to bed." 

He makes a move to stand, but shaking, clammy fingers clasp around his wrist, and he looked down. John was shaking his head fervently, eyes pleading. 

"Please don't make me move," he whimpered, "Please don't - I don't want to move -"

"Hey, hey, sh, sh, we won't move," Paul assured him as he sat back down again. "Just try to follow my breathing, love. That's all, take deep breaths." He hesitantly wrapped an arm around John's shoulders, and the latter uncurled himself, burying his face in Paul's chest. 

"Paul, I really don't feel good," he weakly murmured, finally admitting how sick he felt, and Paul felt his heart break more. 

"Focus on my heartbeat and follow my breathing, love." 

They sit there for a few minutes before John nods faintly against his chest, a small sign that his stomach was settled enough for him to go back to bed. His weight was almost entirely almost against Paul's as they walked back into the bedroom. 

He covered his boyfriend with a blanket, helping him lay down on his side in a comfortable position. He brought a trashcan with them, just in case, and glanced at the clock on the wall:  _ 1:05 am.  _

"I'm going to tell Brian what's happening," Paul told his boyfriend, watching as his eyes opened, and he could see the fever and pain laced in them. He swallowed and gently grabbed John's hand, pressing a kiss to his knuckles. "I'll be right back."

The next time John woke up, he woke up to the feeling of hands running through his hair. He pried his eyes open to see Paul sitting on the edge of the bed, a worried look in his hazel eyes. 

"Good morning, sleepyhead," he teased, some of the worry fading once he saw that he was awake. He turned and dipped a new washcloth into a bowl of water.

"What time is it?" John asked, not bothering to sit up. He still felt sick, but not as bad as last night.

"Just after six," Paul replied, now laying the cloth on his forehead. The cool cloth felt good on his heated skin, and he let out a content sigh. "George and Ringo know, and Brian's working on rescheduling the show." And he knew that he must've had a certain look in his eyes, because Paul gave him a stern look, "it's not your fault, love. You can't help that you're sick, we all get sick. Remember back in '63?" 

John smiled softly at the memory. Last year, Paul had gotten sick with a bad stomach virus, and he had taken care of him. Surprisingly, he hadn't gotten sick.

"Thank you," he suddenly said, and Paul turned to look at him. 

"What for?" he asked. 

"For dealing with me," John answered with a slight shrug, a small smirk on his lips. But his tone was genuine. 

Paul shook his head softly, kissing his nose. "No, thank you."

**Author's Note:**

> i hope you liked it! let me know if you want me to write another fic based off when paul's sick, like from that one interview in 1963.


End file.
